


Keep In Mind All the Sacrifices I’m Makin’

by kissesfromkrug



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Character Study, M/M, Minor Character(s), Miscommunication, Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 13:11:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13482177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissesfromkrug/pseuds/kissesfromkrug
Summary: God, if only Mitch had two names to pick from.(Spoiler alert: he’s got 17.)





	Keep In Mind All the Sacrifices I’m Makin’

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [only know for certain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12844296) by [theundiagnosable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theundiagnosable/pseuds/theundiagnosable). 



> Not for profit, fictional; feel free to point out any typos. :)
> 
> From a — heh — “classic”: Bruno Mars’ “It Will Rain”.
> 
> I feel like I write a lot about angsty (?) things. Maybe it’s a sign about my mental state. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Whomst knows?
> 
> It’s also my first time writing about this particular topic, so...I, for one, had fun with it.

There should be a handbook called How to Find Your Soulmate. Mitch would write it if he knew any of the information, if he could write any sort of well, if only it meant helping people go through less troubles than he did.

And boy, did he feel troubled.

Does.

He has both his best friend’s names, the two people he swore he’d never let go of no matter what— _Dylan_ in block letters going up his right collarbone, _Connor_ in blue ink wrapped around his left wrist.

You were really only supposed to get one or two names; maybe up to four if you’re lucky—or unlucky, depending on the circumstance.

Connor has three: _Dylan_ on the top of his thigh, where his palm would land every time he squeezed Connor’s leg; _Mitch_ over his heart, where he always used to tap Connor after their games; and _Jack_ in thick but tiny script on his lower back, the name he never likes to think about.

Dylan has his younger brother Matt’s on his wrist, where he always used to grab Dylan to show him something; _Connor_ on the curve of his shoulder, where he sets one hand to bring him into a hug; and _Mitch_ right between his shoulder blades, where they used to—and still do, Mitch supposes—pat each other on the back.

Now that Mitch thinks about it, having two or three names is much more common than just one, but there are those poor souls. Chris has four, his mom and one uncle have three each—

Mitch has 17.

* * *

They first start coming in the day he turns 9 years old.

"Mommy!" Mitch shrieks as he sprints down the hallway with his blue nightshirt clutched in his fist. His mother pokes her head out of the kitchen, and he spreads his arms wide as he slides to a stop in front of her. "Look!"

 _Ava_ is written on his lower stomach in curly script, slanting up, and Mitch’s mother makes a cooing noise and brings him into a hug.

"I’m so proud of you, hun," she murmurs into his hair as he squeezes her tight. "I’m sure she’s a nice girl."

He finds his second in the middle of a shower eight months later, home after his U11 game where he scored a hatty. He doesn’t immediately sprint down to show his mom, but it’s a near thing.

"Mom, Mommy, it’s Dylan!" He exclaims, pointing to the name scrawled two inches above his heart, slanting down. She raises an eyebrow, but hugs him tightly anyway. He thought he’d only get two choices, for no more names appeared for over a year.

Then came _Annalise_ , then _Chris_ —Mitch couldn’t _believe_ he’d actually be forced to befriend his brother; the ugly scrawl on the back of his shoulder couldn’t possibly be anyone else’s—but when _Connor_ finally came in a week after _Matt_ , Mitch’s mother began to get worried.

"I don’t know anyone with more than four," she murmured quietly as Mitch sat on the table and pretended not to hear her, _Courtney_  the most recent brand, written in dark pink on his ribs. He rubbed his fingers over _Connor_ on his wrist and thought about how most marks weren’t even romantic, but how he wouldn’t really mind being with a guy. They’d always been easier to talk to, anyway.

Connor is a nice name.

"My older son does have four, but I thought that was the limit."

"High numbers of marks could indeed be hereditary," the doctor said, eyeing Mitch knowingly. "Although I’ve never heard of more than five—I’ve only seen four, at the most, and I’ve been working with kids for—it’s hard to think about it—almost 30 years."

Mitch has seven names.

* * *

 _Christian_ appears on his inner forearm the day after Mitch is drafted to the Knights. It’s his 11th name, after _Jaime_ , _Max_ , _Willy_ —Mitch has a hard time keeping track of all of them now. He traces each name he can reach before he falls asleep, whispering them to himself as he drifts off.

Each of them has a special place in his heart, no matter if he knows them well or not at all. They all deserve something from him, or else they wouldn’t be his soulmates.

Mitch is determined to meet every single one of them.

* * *

Mitch does visit the University of Michigan just to check it out, per his mother's request, and meets his _Jaime_  on the tour. She’s a tall redhead from the area, spunky and pretty and just a bit sassy, and she promises to stay in touch rather easily. His name is written in blue in the dip of her collarbone, and he smiles to himself when he texts her on his way back home.

_J: maybe I can see one of ur games soon_

_M: I hope so!! :)) they’re really fun lol_

_J: I bet! :D_

* * *

Mitch has 13 names by the time Christmas comes. He’s come to learn it’s an equal blessing and curse.

"Mitchy," his mother sighs as he pulls up his shirt and shows her _Morgan_ and _Alex_.

"I know it’s not normal," he says, dropping his hands and crossing his arms over his chest. "But they’re all important to me and deserve to know me."

"How will you know who they are?" She asks, as if he’s more experienced—and maybe he is, having 10 more names than her at the age of 16—but he just shrugs.

"You just—know."

* * *

He finds out who his _Connor,_   _Dylan,_ and _Alex_ are after a brutal loss at Erie. Of course they’re the stars of the Otters. Of _course_ they are.

"Hi, I’m Mitch," he introduces himself, quite unnecessarily when Dylan bursts out of the locker room, all smiles. Dylan stops in his tracks and narrows his eyes.

"Come for a pity party?" He asks, taking a step back even as he turns to face Mitch, who’s leaning casually against the wall. "None in there. Just a winner’s one." He jabs his thumb at the door, grinning a bit meanly.

Mitch sighs. "Can I just ask something?"

"If it’s 'where was our backcheck', then I have some bad news for ya," Dylan grins—no,  _leers_ at him.

"Whatever," Mitch frowns. "Get over yourself and listen for once." He tugs on the sleeve of his suit as he pushes off the wall. Dylan raises an eyebrow and puffs out his chest in a failing effort to be frightening. Mitch has spent years being smaller than people, so it doesn’t faze him anymore.

"What?" Dylan prompts as Mitch slides off his jacket, when the silence has apparently gone on for too long.

"I have yours, I think." Mitch has never been known for his subtlety.

Dylan wrinkles his nose in confusion and opens his mouth, but the words never come as Mitch unodes a few buttons on his shirt to reveal  _Dylan_ , the one on his collar he’s traced since he was 10. There’s no doubt Strome is his _Dylan_. He knew it the second they stepped on the ice that night, and suspected it for months previous.

Don’t ask him how.

"What the fuck?" Dylan looks down at himself and reaches back to rub at a spot right under the back of his neck, long enough to be noticeable. "I—that’s me, that’s mine." Mitch breaks into a huge grin, but Dylan looks mildly terrified. "I—Connor."

"Yeah?" Connor chooses that particular moment to pop out of the locker room, hair sopping wet as he practically radiates happiness.

"It’s Marns," Dylan says quietly, and apparently that’s all he needs to say.

"Marns?" Connor says, turning to Mitch with wide eyes. "Like. This Mitch?"

"Are you this Connor?" Mitch shoots back, rolling up his sleeve reveal that name, too. Connor sucks in a surprised breath, and okay, today is officially the craziest day of Mitch’s life.

* * *

He meets his _Alex_ at a later date, technically, when he’s FaceTiming Connor. _His_ Connor.

Mitch wouldn’t mind dating a guy, if only Connor wasn’t madly in love with his _Dylan_. Their Dylan, really, but Mitch has no shot. They’re more than happy with each other, anyway. He’ll be okay leaving them alone in their sappy romance.

* * *

 _Jake_ appears on Mitch’s calf when he’s playing Xbox on the couch with Connor and Dylan one summer night, his 14th name. They demand to see it, ooh and ahh for a few seconds, then proceed to finally— _finally_ —show Mitch their names on each other.

Mitch makes enough embarrassingly sweet noises and teases to last them the entire regular season.

His doctor is beyond baffled when he goes in for another test, despite the fact that they’ve done examinations upon tests upon experiments to determine what the actual fuck Mitch even is.

He would say he didn’t mind, but being treated like a specimen can get a little frustrating and overwhelming. He just—has a big heart, that’s all. He has room to love all his soulmates no matter what.

Another _Connor_ shows up a month later, stamped in black on his stomach, but by this time, Mitch has stopped telling his mother. She’s already begun to treat him like a guinea pig of soulmate research. He’s not quite her son anymore.

* * *

Mitch is floating on air the night of June 26th, 2015. Florida is hot and muggy, but he’s never felt more giddy in his life, mood unable to be dampened by even the most ridiculous and stupid of questions asked by reporters.

He’s going to the _Leafs_. For real.

Connor and Dylan join him in his hotel room for a little while, all talking over one another about teams and the rest of the draft after them and their seasons and the hot weather and the league and their families and—

Mitch feels at home, for the first time in years.

He’s a Toronto Maple Leaf—he touches the logo on his chest and rubs it affectionately as his mouth stretches to nearly break his cheeks—and he has his two best friends with him, happier than he’s ever seen them. They’re in the NHL, staying in a nice hotel in sunny Florida, and their families are all here to celebrate with them.

"Nothing can top this," Dylan says in awe, flopping back onto one of the beds again after his excited pacing in front of Connor and Mitch. "Like. Wow."

"We made it," Connor says, eyes squeezed shut as he lists over into Mitch’s side. Connor smiles as Dylan reaches the few inches over and touches the shoulder of the Oilers jersey.

"Edmonton is _cold_ ," Dylan complains suddenly, and Connor reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers.

"Arizona is _hot_ ," Mitch returns, and Dylan leans over to smack him with his free hand.

"So am I," Connor mumbles at the same time Dylan says,

"Shut up, you know you’re lucky." He looks to Connor next, saying, "You know you are." Connor just giggles and bumps his nose against Dylan’s forehead.

Mitch makes a noise, and Dylan hits him again. Mitch is still smiling huge like a dork—how could he _not_ be?—and he nudges Connor after a moment. "Mm?"

"You guys are the best."

"Damn fucking _right_ we are," Dylan answers, and Connor laughs, a joyful and bright thing, and Mitch can’t help but join in. Soon they’re all laughing for no real reason, curled into each other and high off the night.

 _Patrick_ appears on Mitch’s side during the night, when they finally manage to squeeze a few hours of sleep in.

He finally cries over the names when he gets home, pressing into all of them and wondering when he’ll find someone that wants him.

* * *

Mitch texts Jaime every day, is always in contact with Connor, Dylan, and Dvo, he’s met almost all the girls except Courtney (who he discovered through a wrong number text, funnily enough), and the others all seem to be on his current and future teams. He’s got it all settled, except for the fact that no one seems _right_.

_M: am I doing smthn wrong??_

_J: wym?_

_M: who is it_

_M: who wants me like that_

_M: nobody_

Jaime has herself a 'fantasmically amazing' girlfriend, in her words, so she’s all set—it seems like all Mitch’s soulmates are happily satisfied elsewhere with another name on their body. He’s not bitter or jealous—not too much—but he just doesn’t know how they did it.

_J: someone does_

_J: I know it, they gotta_

_J: ur like. fucking amazing, dude_

_J: one of my bestest bffs_

_M: awwwww thnx_

_J: fr tho._

_J: uve got the sweetest personality, ur super kind, u have an amazing smile, ur fuckin amazing at hockey, and ur so goddamn CUTE, like_

_J: dude. whoever it is has got a real issue up in their head_

_M: ikr im irresistible_

_J: YESSSSSS THATS THE SPIRIT_

_M: i try_

_M: ok sooooo_

_M: what do I have 2 do_

_M: what did u do???_

_J: ?_

_M: how 2 get soulmate_

_M: o wait this isn’t google :/_

_J: Marns_

_J: srsly bro_

_M: !!!!!!!!_

_J: ok so what r u looking for?_

_M: preferably some 1 w their name on me n vice versa_

_M: but idk_ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_J: cut the shit, Marner_

Mitch sighs loudly, leaning even farther back into the pillows on his hotel room bed in Oshawa. Jaime’s a stubborn one.

_M: a guy thatll love me_

_M: u know??_

_J: mmhm_

_J: it took me a while too_

_J: uve prolly heard this a lot, but this shit isn’t easy_

_M: may have heard it once or twice_

_J: do u know the kind of person u want ur soulmate 2 be??_

_M: only requirements are hockey n love_

_J: awwwwwwww <3<3<3_

_M: shut up u asshole_

_J: shhhhhhhh i have the best ass_

_M: whatever u wanna think : <_

_M: it’s mine all day erry day_

_J: bet ur soulmate thinks so 2 ;)_

_M: I hope he will_

* * *

Mitch’s 17th name appears right over his heart the day of the 2016 Draft. That night actually, as he watches Charlie McAvoy head to the Bruins. He feels the telltale tingling sensation as he goes to drink from his water bottle, tugging the neckline of his shirt down rather viciously and hearing a few threads snap.

There, in messy handwriting, is the name _Auston_ —yup, with an "o"—and Mitch jerks his head up to the screen. He grabs the remote without looking and rewinds the Draft to the very first pick.

"—from Zurich, Men’s League Switzerland, U.S. Program, Auston Matthews." Sure enough, that Auston is spelled the same way as the name on Mitch, and he feels his chest tighten uncomfortably and heart pick up speed as Auston hugs his family and heads up to the stage. Auston is fucking  _gorgeous_. And talented, apparently.

God, if only Mitch had two names to pick from.

* * *

Auston breaks a panel of glass during their first official practice together—off Mitch’s pass, no less—and Mitch is smitten.

During the delay, he attempts to continue bonding from where they’d left off in rookie camp. "Better not do that every day," Mitch chirps, leaning on the boards behind him, and Auston turns to him in surprise. "Might send you down if you keep wrecking the place, eh?"

"You gonna pop outta nowhere every day too?" He returns, but Mitch only smiles wider.

"You can count on that." Auston shrugs as if to say _fair enough_ , and Mitch can already tell he’ll be a hard egg to crack.

Mitch doesn’t mind it, is the thing. He likes a challenge.

* * *

When Mitch gets attached, there’s not really any hope for the other person. Auston is no different.

"Wanna chill with a movie?" He asks Auston one day as they unlace their skates after practice.

"Your place?" Auston has learned, even in the few weeks they’ve been teammates, that you don’t say no to Mitch Marner’s invites.

"Nah, my mom’ll be home." He pauses. "Your dad’s away, right? We can go to yours."

"You’re driving," Auston warns, as if Mitch has a perpetual fear of asphalt and yellow lines. Mitch hardly notices how Auston doesn’t even refuse.

"Because your lazy ass is lazy, or because you’re afraid of Canadian roads?" Mitch asks, and Auston punches him in the leg before pulling off his skates and socks.

"Shut up, Marns."

"It’s not like you can’t afford a car or anything," Mitch presses, smirking as Auston rolls his eyes. "You probably already got that performance bonus."

"None if you are getting any kind of bonuses if you sit on your asses and chit chat all day," Mo huffs, and a roll of sock tape hits the side of his face.

"Stop being so damn boring," Willy calls. "You’re starting to sound like an old man, dad—'chit chat'." Mo’s long given up on trying to control them, shaking his head after tossing a sock as he heads to the showers.

"I’m picking the movie," Mitch says proudly when he finishes stripping moments before Auston. He’s proud of himself that he’s managed to (usually) keep his eyes to himself, so he deserves a reward.

"You do that, Marns. You do that."

It’s only when Auston climbs in the passenger seat that Mitch realizes he’s never seen any of Auston’s names.

* * *

"Fucking beautiful, man!" Mitch yells in Auston’s ear when he circled back to the bench, slinging his arm over Auston’s broad shoulders and shaking him. "Amazing!"

"Willy started it," Auston shouts back—because of course he won’t take the credit—"But fuckin’ right, it’s amazing!" Mitch beams at him, and Auston taps him on the head with the shaft of his stick and smiles back. "You’re gonna get one too, eh?"

Mitch doesn’t score, but he does get an assist on their second goal against Edmonton—but of _course_  McDavid (he can’t say "his Connor" anymore, since Brownie’s name is on him, too) scores too—but they win. They win, they could make the playoffs, they’re _winning_.

At their hotel, Auston shows Mitch one of his supposed two names.

"Got it when I was 12," Auston says, reaching up and showing Mitch the underside of his bicep, pale white smoothness where the name Stephanie is written in neat black cursive. Mitch’s heart sinks, but he still smiles for Auston and pokes the mark.

"Where’s the other one?" He presses. "I’ll show you all mine if you show me yours." He waggles his eyebrows, which does the trick of making Auston laugh, but he doesn’t break.

"Not tonight," Auston says, sliding off the bed and making to move towards his own.

"No," Mitch says suddenly, fingers wrapping around Auston’s wrist. "Stay." He formulates it like an order and not the question it is, and Auston relents after a few seconds of tension in Mitch’s head.

" _Fine_."

"I’m the best cuddler in the world, there’s nothing just 'fine' about me," Mitch scoffs, but his face is already half-buried in Auston’s shirt, so the words are muffled. Auston gets the point, chest vibrating with his chuckle.

"Go to sleep, world renowned cuddler," he murmurs, and Mitch feels his heart suddenly leap in his chest, a far cry from mere moments before.

"That’s me."

* * *

"And I’ve got Davo’s," Mitch says, tracing over the name on his stomach as Auston stares with marked interest. "But he’s already, like. Taken. So." He waves his arm absently. "Best friends." Auston seems to understand. He always does.

"I get that."

Mitch is about to ask how in the world he gets that with only two names when his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out to find a series of texts from Jaime.

_J: whos 34??_

_J: oh it’s that austin guy_

_J: AUSTON WITH AN O excuse me sorry :/_

_J: he one of ur soulmates 2??_

_J: u look @ him funny_

_M: funny how??_

_J: like u like him_

_J: as more than a bff_

Relaionships outside of soulmate interactions aren’t too common, but they aren’t exactly a rarity. They’re hard to work out, but Mitch has seen it happen.

_M: idk_

_J: “idk” as in u don’t know if u like him??or if ur legit soulmates??_

Well, they’ve _gotta_ be...don’t they?

_M: I think we r_

_M: he hasn’t shown me his 2nd name yet_

_J: this is the guy w only 2?_

_M: yep_

_J: ask him the next time you win_

_J: in canada tho, u gotta get him drunk_

_J: but ask_

_J: u and I both wanna know rlly bad_

_M: ok_

_J: :D yay!!!!!_

_J: afjtoskjdkslsjdkdsj gotta go :,(_

_M: :( see yaaaaaaa later tho!! :):)_

* * *

True to his word, Mitch corners Auston the next time a beer is placed in front of him. "Hi, so," Mitch starts eagerly, leaning in after he takes the barstool next to him. "I just wanted—"

"Wait," Auston interrupts, and Mitch’s heart skips a nervous beat. "Just need a drink before I hear any more words." He takes a long swig of his beer, Mitch watching his thick throat as he swallows, his strong fingers wrapping around the glass. "Continue."

"Soulmates," Mitch blurts out instead of the whole rant he’d had prepared, the sight of Auston all relaxed and loosening up doing some _things_ to his head. "Like. Yours."

Auston sucks on his lip, shifting his gaze to the inside of his beer. "What about mine?"

"Who’s the second one?" Mitch asks, going for gold. "I’ve told you, like, all of mine."

"Don’t you have 17—or something?" Auston says casually, like he knows more than he’s letting on.

"Not 'or something', it’s 17," Mitch scoffs, hiding his pleased surprise. "Why?"

"You've only actually shown me 16, I think." Again with the 'I know a shit ton about you but I’m being awkwardly casual about it' shit. Mitch’s jaw goes a little slack at the knowledge that Auston’s actually stored all his Marns Facts to be used in situations like these.

"That’s not the point," Mitch protests after he gets over the initial shock. "I wanted to see yours." Auston opens his mouth to object, but Mitch isn’t done. "I’ve showed you like, 16 of 17 of mine. That’s like, a lot percent."

"Above 90%, close to 95%," Hymie pipes up from Mitch’s other side, and Mitch rolls his eyes.

"Nerd." Auston cracks a tiny smile at that and sips at his beer, studying Mitch intently even as his body visibly relaxes. "But yeah," Mitch says, frowning not unkindly. "You’ve seen 95% of mine, I’ve only seen 50% of yours. Not fair."

"If I show you, it’ll be 100%, which isn’t fair either," Auston points out. Mitch just shrugs.

"Then I’ll show you—" His mouth twists up into a smirk as he cuts himself off. Auston sighs.

"Don’t even."

"I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?" Mitch says anyway, cracking up at the look on Auston’s face. "Legit though," he says, still grinning. "I will show you."

"God, how did your parents not dump you on the street?" Auston asks the air, gesturing with his beer bottle before drinking more and sucking on the rim for a moment. "You just don’t stop, do you?"

"Nope."

* * *

Mitch knows that it’s not uncommon for players to have their names covered in the locker room, either by stick tape or some sort of covering, but Auston’s never been that secretive about his. He knows Mo hides his, among other guys, and Connor—his first _Connor_ —has started to cover the _Jack_ low on his back.

Mitch has never for a second considered hiding any of his. They deserve to be loved and cherished, not hidden away like some sort of disease. That’s just his opinion, anyway.

Except Auston’s. He’s never shown that one in any locker room.

"It was my first day of high school," Auston says, drawing Mitch’s mind back to the present.

"Mhm?"

"Yeah. Scariest day of my life, until the draft, to be honest." Mitch knows the feeling. "Wasn’t expecting it yet, but you know how it is. You’re never fucking prepared for it."

"Nah," Mitch agrees, almost vibrating himself off the couch with anticipation. He’s trying not to talk so Auston will get on with it, but it’s getting harder by the second.

"So, like," Auston says, sinking farther into the cushions and sliding his arms over the back of the couch. Mitch doesn’t fail to notice that if he just sat up a bit, Auston’s arm would be around his shoulders. "It was kinda weird, and no one I knew had gotten a name there."

"Where?" Mitch asks quickly. "Where is it?" Auston leans forward, and Mitch is ready for him to strip off his shirt—yes _please_ —when he tugs down a sock and crosses his ankle over his knee to show Mitch.

Mitch feels his lungs squeeze in his chest as he reads _Zach_  on Auston’s Achilles heel, reaching forward almost unconsciously. He stops an inch from his skin, looking up at Auston. "Can I—" He leaves it openended, and Auston nods, surprisingly chill. _He’s always too fucking chill_ , Mitch thinks in frustration as he traces the four letters and wishes there were five—wishes they were his.

"Can I see yours?" Auston asks quietly, when Mitch has pulled back.

"Not—I can’t— _Aus_ ," he says desperately. Auston’s expression softens, like he knows how important Mitch’s names are to him. He _does_ know. Mitch doesn’t hide it.

"Okay," he smiles, and fuck, does Mitch love him. "Whenever you want." If Mitch hadn’t loved Auston from the first moment he saw him, that right there, that display of utter care and understanding would’ve been the exact moment Mitch fell.

By fell, Mitch means "I tripped down the stairs and broke a leg" falling. The intense kind.

Mitch kind of wants to die.

* * *

"Hi, so I think I wanna move to Siberia now," Mitch says in lieu of a greeting.

"That’s too cold even for a Canadian boy like you," Jaime says. "Why?"

"Why do you think?" Mitch replies glumly, and Jaime’s tone immediately changes.

"Is he not—"

"Nope," he says, not even wanting to hear it. "No he’s not."

"Impossible," she scoffs. "He’s gotta be."

"He said he had two names and neither of them are mine so there’s gotta be another Auston in this world spelled like his but I want it to be _him_ 'cause—"

" _Hey_ ," Jaime says, interrupting Mitch’s ramblings. "Just breathe in deeply and listen to me, okay?" Mitch feels tears welling in his eyes as he takes in a shuddery breath. It was never supposed to be this fucking difficult. "Mitchell."

"Okay," he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut and doing as he’s told. "I'll listen."

"You’re going to be okay," she murmurs, and he can’t hold back a sob at her soft, almost pillowy tone. "It will turn out alright, and believe me—it’s worth it in the end." Mitch scrubs at his eyes viciously as he pulls his knees to his chest, on his side in his queen size bed. Alone. "And who says he’s telling the truth?"

"He said there was two," Mitch insists weakly. "He wouldn’t lie to me."

"If it was you, he might be scared that you don’t want him. He sees how many names you have. He looks at you and sees someone who has so many options, over a dozen, while the rest of the world hardly has three. He might not believe you’d want him, even if he had your name and vice versa."

"How could I _not_ want him?"

"Mitch—"

"He doesn’t _want_ me," Mitch chokes out, and he knows he’ll be embarrassed in the morning, but at the moment, no fucks are being given. He’s broken, dammit, and he can cry when he wants to. "He doesn’t. Not like that. He wouldn’t wanna try even if he did want me."

Jaime tries to interject, but Mitch is on a roll. "No one’s ever wanted me like that. It’s always been as 'just friends', don’t get too close, blah blah bullshit. There’s nothing wrong with friends, but like. I _want_ him." He rubs his face again, his next words feeling like acid on his tongue. "I love him."

"Then—"

"I’m sorry," Mitch says before she can finish. "I’m sorry we’re talking about this."

"I’m not," Jaime replies, confident in her answer.

"Can we please—switch topics?" He sniffs, but Jaime isn’t the kind of person to just let this kind of thing go. "I don’t—"

"No," she says, and he hiccups.

"Why?"

"That isn’t like you. And besides, you can’t always wait for the other person to make the first move," Jaime says wisely. "Sometimes you just gotta—jump in. I’ve never known you to not be a jumper, Marns. C’mon. There’s always a chance."

Mitch has fucking  _always_  leaped headfirst into everything no matter what. She’s right. He should handle this himself. He can. He will.

He can do it.

"Please," she says, after too long without a reply. "If not for you...then for me."

"Okay," he breathes out, voice wobbling dangerously. "Okay."

"That’s my boy," she praises, and he feels a tiny spark of warmth in his chest. There’s a moment of peaceful silence in which he focuses on her breathing, not wanting to ask— "Want me to stay on till you—"

"Yes," he interrupts, relieved that he at least didn’t have to ask. "Yes, please."

"Of course, Marns, of course."

Mitch lets her soothing, quiet voice, talking about her long day out and about, lull him to sleep as he pushes all his Auston Problems to the back of his head.

Mitch deserves better, too.

* * *

It’s a long ass shit game, is what it is. Everyone is a minus, Freddy was pulled in the 2nd, they put up a pitiful 19 shots to LA’s 43, had no fucking goals to show for any of it—

Mitch has the worst timing.

"Aus." He bumps Auston’s shoulder on their way out of the building. Auston doesn’t even look at him. "Matts?"

"I’m just gonna head home and crash," Auston answers, which isn’t an answer at all. Besides, Mitch drove them both to the arena, there’s no way he’s getting back unless he wants to freeze his ass off and walk who knows how far.

"No you’re not," Mitch says. "-3's gotta stick together."

Auston looks at him, then, probably to see if he’s joking. Mitch has a wry smile on his face, and Auston just snorts and shakes his head as Mitch feels the name over his heart throb painfully. _Me too_ , he thinks sadly as Auston climbs in the passenger seat without a word. _Me fucking too_.

"Mitch," Auston says stiffly once he realizes the roads he’s being taken down. "I want to go home."

"I’m taking you home," Mitch answers, eyes firmly fixed on the road, occasionally flitting to the rear view mirror. "We’re gonna forget about tonight and go straight to bed and wake up like it didn’t even happen."

"We have to learn from our mistakes, we gotta—"

"Let go of the emotion behind it," Mitch says—which is kind of ironic, coming from him. "Forget about how frustrated or pissed off or fucking awful it made you feel and just focus on the 'why's."

Auston doesn’t answer.

They pull up into Mitch’s driveway in silence, moving around each other like they’ve been together for years once they get inside. Auston has stayed over enough that he knows where everything is; knows that the yellow toothbrush in the plastic cup is his, and that he can use any toothpaste he sees, and that extra hand towels are in the cupboard but regular towels are under the sink—

He comes over a lot.

Auston dries his face off just as Mitch walks in to brush his teeth, and he grabs Auston’s arm as he turns left outside the bathroom, probably going toward the spare bedroom he always uses. He raises an eyebrow at Mitch, who frowns in disappointment.

"My room’s the other way," he says. Auston furrows his eyebrows. "You’re staying in my bed."

"Where—"

" _We’re_ staying in my bed," Mitch clarifies, watching Auston’s face go through a series of expressions before landing on a frustratingly indecipherable neutral. "Got it?"

"Whatever you say," Auston agrees, sounding less enthusiastic than Mitch would’ve hoped, turning and heading into Mitch’s bedroom. Mitch tries not to think of how easy Auston went, or how he must look in Mitch’s bed, smelling like his blankets; maybe the bed will smell like Auston—

God, that was a bad decision.

Mitch will tell him about his name...later. Tomorrow morning. 

* * *

Mitch wakes up with a mouthful of too-long hair and a heavy weight on his legs and upper body. He scrunches his nose and twists his head away from Auston’s, slowly pulling an arm out from under him to push his own hair out of his eyes.

Auston sighs and squirms, tightening his arms around Mitch’s body. "Warm."

Mitch inhales sharply as Auston’s cheekbone lands right over his name on Mitch’s chest. He tenses up, waiting for Auston to move away.

Auston doesn’t.

Mitch prods Auston’s back with his fingers, throat still too sore for good use as he attempts to wake his best friend. "Aus," he tries anyway, "Wake up, your fatass is flattening me." He shoves hard at Auston’s shoulder, and Auston whines in protest.

"I love you," he mumbles in a faint, pouty voice, one Mitch has never heard before. Mitch’s heart leaps, despite the fact that Auston’s fast asleep. "Love you. Warm."

"Move," Mitch whispers, biting his lip and plucking Auston’s hands off him to slide out of the covers, which have somehow cocooned themselves around the two of them. He can’t take this affection if he knows it’ll be gone by the time Auston awakens.

Maybe Mitch will tell him another day.

* * *

Another day happens to be three days before Christmas—Mitch still can’t believe he’s only really known Auston for four months—when they shut out the Avs in their own building.

Auston has a beauty of a bar-down wrister, and Mitch collects three assists in the victory.

Definitely a good time. Except for the fact that they’re headed straight for the airport.

"I would be like, dying of exhaustion," Willy announces as they buckle up. "But we won, so like—"

"So you and the rookie crew are gonna talk the whole ride?" Naz asks, and Willy squawks and shoots an insult right back about Jazzy the cat.

"Hey, Jazzy’s a nice cat," Mo shoots back. "I gave her a good luck pet before we left—"

"Fucking weirdo—"

"Shut up, we won."

"Cat pets bring good luck," Mitch agrees, trying to be wise as he nods solemnly, but he bursts into laughter the moment he sees Auston’s dull expression.

"Go the fuck to sleep," he says, yet tucks his head in the curve of Mitch’s neck as he inserts his headphones and closes his eyes. Mitch knows he doesn’t mean the comment, so he pats Auston’s shoulder and settles in his seat.

He wonders if the cuddling is meaningless, too.

Mitch doesn’t tell him.

* * *

 _Merry fucking Christmas!_ Mitch texts over Snapchat the second Auston reads his daily good morning message. _rnt u so pumped?!!!_

_A: id rather b asleep_

_A: but sure_

_M: boringggggg_

_A: what r u doing?_

_M: laying in bed talking 2 u_

_A: really? never woulda guessed_

_A: any plans?_

_M: hanging w fam_

_M: wanna come over after lunch?? theyll b gone by then_

_A: ok_

_M: yay!!!!! <3_

_A: :))_

Mitch takes a deep breath, and before he can stop himself, he strips off his t-shirt and snaps a picture of his bare chest, just barely capturing the letter "A" in the photo. It should be enough of a hint.

* * *

Auston arrives with a box and a look of determination on his face as he steps through the entryway and into Mitch’s living room, where the tree is all decorated and wrapping paper bits are still scattered all over the floor.

"You good?" Mitch asks as he sits on the couch, stretching his legs and throwing his arms over the back of it.

"Show me," Auston says, and Mitch laughs lightly.

"'Hi Marns, Merry Christmas, how are you?'" He teases, and Auston huffs as he sets the box by the tree and comes over to Mitch.

"Marns." Mitch raises an eyebrow. "Show me."

"Why now?" Mitch prompts, tilting his head back to look up at Auston. He’s leveled with a glare, rolling his eyes as Auston moves another foot closer. "Okay, that was kind of weird of me, but—"

"Why’d you send it to me?" Auston interrupts. "Show me all of it. You can’t—" He frowns deeply to himself and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Can’t what?" Mitch says, trying to encourage Auston along when it becomes clear he’s not finishing his thought. "What can’t I do?"

"Show me my damn name," Auston says through gritted teeth, and Mitch’s eyes widen in surprise. Auston isn’t stupid.

He sits forward and slowly pulls his shirt over his shoulders, balling it at his stomach as Auston kneels down in front of him. He slowly peels off the tape, and can see Auston’s eyes immediately dart to the letters. "Can I—" This time, it’s Auston hesitating to touch, and against Mitch’s judgement, he nods. He might never get this again.

Two sets of breaths catch as Auston begins to trace his name with two fingers, completely focused on it.

 _A_. _U_ merging with _s. T_ looping to _o. N_  stretching a little longer than the others. A perfect match.

Mitch’s hands are fisted in his lap to keep from touching, and Auston asks, "When did you get it?", quietly, as if they were in a church.

"June," Mitch mumbles, finally releasing one hand and rubbing his face. "Can we like, not talk about this right now?"

Auston frowns up at him. "If you’re sure?" He traces his own name on Mitch’s skin again, as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Maybe it is. Maybe he’s never seen his name on someone else. Maybe he’s never met either of his soulmates. Maybe he wants Mitch to know something he’s kept secret for years. Maybe he thinks—

"Please." Mitch doesn’t want to beg, but he sure as hell knows how.

"Okay." Auston’s shoulders relax the tiniest bit, and he rubs his thumb over his name one last time before he stands back up and retrieves his box. Mitch is left breathless, watching him closely as his heart threatens to pound out of his chest.

Of course he fell in love with someone who’s not actually his soulmate.

* * *

Mitch doesn’t avoid Auston or any of the guys, per se, nor does he ignore Jaime’s calls, but he avoids any talk of soulmates like the plague. Any time the team brings up even the vaguest of references to them, Mitch ducks his head and tunes them out, either drowning in his thoughts or the music in his headphones. He doesn’t think anyone picks up on it, since they’re probably all just grateful he’s shutting his mouth a little bit more.

In the locker room, he has all his names covered in tape now. They haven’t done him any good, anyway.

* * *

Connor calls him from bleak Edmonton one night in January, gasping for breath. "Marns," he wheezes, and Mitch sits straight up in bed, phone pressed to his ear.

"Yeah?" He whispers, glancing over at a dozing Auston. He’s a heavy sleeper; Mitch probably won’t bother him.

It’s also 3:10 am, so there’s not really anywhere for him to go in a random hotel in Ottawa.

"Marns, oh my god."

"Davo," Mitch says urgently, and Connor coughs through what sounds like sobs.

"I can’t do it, I can’t."

"You can. I know you can."

"I’m not a good captain," Connor mumbles, sniffling loudly. Mitch knows Connor used to have episodes like this in Erie, but for some stupid reason, he thought Connor had moved on from them. Like mental illness works like that.

"I’m not good at this. I’m not qualified, why did they pick me? I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t _know_."

"You’re so qualified it kills me, Davo," Mitch says honestly. "You’re fucking amazing."

"I don’t know," Connor repeats, breaths speeding up. "I can’t, I don’t know if I can, I don’t—"

"Fuck all that negativity," Mitch interrupts, defensive. Auston rustles in the bed, but Mitch doesn’t even look over. "Who’s telling you that you can’t? Who’s saying you’re under-qualified? Who’s talking about that? The media? The fucking dumbass  _media_ that you shouldn’t ever listen to?"

All Mitch can hear are Connor’s cries, muted, as if he’s set his phone in a pillow. From nearly 1,800 miles away, there’s not much more Mitch can do.

"Hey," he says softly after a few painful, helpless minutes, like he’s soothing a baby. "I love you."

"You’re my best fucking friend," Connor says shakily. "I love you too, Marns—oh my _god_ , why are you so far away? You and Dyls and me—so far."

"There’s gotta be something out to get us," Mitch jokes, but it falls way too far flat. That hurt the both of them.

"Can I ask something about soulmates?" Connor whispers. "I don’t—I know you don’t talk about yours anymore but could I—"

"Anything you wanna know," Mitch answers. "Anything at all. Whenever."

"How’s Matthews?" Connor asks, and Mitch fees his stomach tighten with—he doesn’t even know what, but it hurts like a bitch. Fucking painful.

"Fine," Mitch answers stiffly. "He’s fine."

"Don’t lie, Marns," Auston mumbles from his bed, and Mitch almost falls off his.

"I gotta go, Davo, I love you," Mitch says, and Connor makes a confused noise. "I’ll explain later. Talk to you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Connor says. "Thanks. And love you too."

Mitch smiles faintly as he hangs up. "Why’d you do that?" Auston asks, voice still slow and syrupy. Mitch loves it, wishes he could always hear it, but—doesn’t want to be so near something he can’t have.

"I was interrupted by some guy with a big forehead," Mitch half-jokes, setting down his phone and curling into the comforter. "Go to bed."

"Was that McDavid?" Mitch rolls to face the wall. "Is he yours?"

 _He could’ve been_ , Mitch thinks, half-bitterly.

"Mitchy," Auston says, a little louder.

"No." He doesn’t know if it’s a no to be talked to, a no to one or both of Auston’s questions, or just a general no. Auston doesn’t either.

Auston doesn’t say any more, but Mitch can hear him climb out of his bed. His own dips down behind him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, harder than before, as Auston slides under the covers.

"Go away," Mitch mumbles into a pillow, not really wanting that at all. He knows he needs human contact when he’s like this.

Auston just draws him close, one hand resting on the dip of his waist. Mitch supposes he knows about Mitch’s cuddling tendencies, too—because why wouldn’t he? 

"Go to sleep," he says, almost a sigh in Mitch’s ear before he settles himself in. They fit perfectly together, Mitch’s lankier body pressed all along Auston’s thick and solid front, and Mitch hopes Auston can’t feel his heartbeat in his ears.

Mitch shivers as Auston tucks his forehead into the back of Mitch’s neck, hand sliding around to press into Mitch’s stomach. Mitch hesitates, then matches his palm up with the back of Auston’s hand. He feels Auston smile, squeezing his fingers once.

Mitch’s heart leaps in his chest, and he’s sure there’s a blush on his face. Auston’s hand moves to cover his name over Mitch’s heart—intentional or not, Mitch doesn’t know, but he goes a little light-headed.

He always has _Auston_  covered now, no matter what.

Mitch could never, ever refuse this, especially from Auston, no matter how much it’ll hurt in the morning to pull away.

* * *

Mitch doesn’t have to do the pulling away. In fact, Auston is completely and entirely gone from their room when Mitch finally climbs out of bed and wanders into the bathroom.

In all the cheesy books and stories he’s gotten a glimpse of (he won’t admit to reading them unless he’s hung by his fingernails), the person staying over is always up first, making food for the other as a sweet gesture of thanks.

Auston can’t cook to save his life—there’s no kitchen in their room anyway, even if he could—and in those stories, the characters lived alone, not spending their days traveling around the continent, living off of hotel breakfasts. 

Mitch finds the note scrawled on the pad on the desk between the beds when he returns.

**Sorry I left early. Had something I needed to take care of.**

**~A**

Mitch sighs and roots around for day clothes. He might as well find food himself, if Auston’s going to be no help.

* * *

The flight back is short and quiet; they’re hardly at cruising altitude before they’re on their descent again. Mitch presses himself against the window and listens to depressing songs while Auston talks about the Swedish soap opera he’s been watching with Willy three rows back.

He’s not hurt that Hymie is next to him reading instead of Auston. Nope. Zach is a great guy, nice guy, smart guy, real team player—but he’s not Auston. Mitch’s _Auston_.

After around 20 minutes, Zach shifts his position, but Mitch hardly looks over. He’s busy watching the poofy snow-looking clouds pass by in huge clumps to care. There’s a gentle tap of fingers on his upper thigh, and hey, Zach isn’t one for that kind of affection.

Mitch looks back to see Auston smiling at him, and Mitch tugs a headphone out and stops Justin Timberlake’s voice cold. "Um. Hi."

"You don’t seem happy," Auston says, looking down at his hands. "I just wanted to ask—I was hoping it wasn’t anything I did."

 _Your_ existence _makes me sad_ , Mitch wants to say, but he just pastes on a huge smile and shakes his head. "Nah, just—" He turns back to the window. "Wanna be at home again."

Auston’s nervous expression drops. "Oh. Me too."

When Mitch looks back, Auston is still smiling like a dork, and he can’t help the flutters in his chest. What a sight.

* * *

He calls Connor back, but he doesn't suggest talking about Auston. Connor doesn’t bring it up either. He knows.

* * *

Toronto is  _still_ winning more than they’re losing, and Mitch is on his way to breaking a record. The Leafs themselves are breaking records, and compared to a decade before, Mitch can’t even recognize the same style of play. They’re just— _better_.

Mitch still calls Connor and Dylan when he can, still pokes his names in the shower, and continues to eat everything he sees to try and put on the weight— _no_ , dad, it’s not as simple as "just eat cheeseburgers, pizza, and fries and you’ll gain a few pounds". Not that simple at all.

_J: how u feeling?_

And Jaime. He’s still texting Jaime, his ride-or-die. She always seems to know when he’s even the slightest bit down.

_M: exhausted tbh_

_M: but happy ig_

_J: yea? :)) that’s great!_

_J: but only if ur telling the truth_

_J: wait - u guess ur happy?? r u actually tho??_

_M: kinda_

_J: <3 im sending some love_

_M: ur the best <3<3_

_M: thanks :)_

_J: u know it XP and ur welcome_

_J: my best bestie :D_

_M: u toooooooooo_

_J: so how’s Austin w an o??_

_M: fine._

_J: no he’s not_

_J: ur having issues, I can feel them from here_

_M: what_

_J: does he know u love him?_

_M: does he what I what???????_

_J: it’s abt time u figured out what u really really want. GO for it. him._

_M: we rnt soulmates_

_J: I guarantee you are_

_J: wait n see_

_M: Jaime..............._

_J: Wait!!!n See!!!_

* * *

Mitch doesn’t exactly trip over his shoes when he sees the tape on Auston’s inner thigh—the only reason for that being he was shrugging off shoulder pads while sitting in his stall. No doubt, he would’ve tripped if he was walking around.

Auston has three names.

Mitch could’ve utilized that information a long while ago. Long time. He has no idea how he’s missed it, to be honest...

Unless it’s new.

Better late than never.

* * *

Mitch prompts Auston to come over for video games—which, _duh_ , Auston would never ditch Mitch’s offer on a successful night like this.

They change into sweats and t-shirts, grab a beer each, and settle on the couch with a massive bowl of popcorn on the side table. 

Within 30 minutes, Auston’s complained enough about getting shot in CoD—his weakness—that Mitch makes a loud comment about sore losers and changes the game to Mario Kart. "Something you might be decent at," Mitch grins, leaning away from Auston’s smack with his remote.

"Like you could beat me on Peach Beach," Auston shoots back.

Mitch just laughs. "Rainbow Road, anyone?"

Soon enough they’re laughing, shouting, swearing, and swatting at each other like usual, and Mitch’s mind has been taken right off Auston’s third name. That is, until Mitch finishes in 11th after Auston knocked him thrice off Rainbow Road, Auston still left in the dust.

"You doing okay?" Auston asks, after Mitch has wiped away his gleeful tears.

"Um? Hell yeah," Mitch recovers, smiling from next to him on the couch. "We _won_ , dude, how would I not be okay?"

Auston doesn’t say anything, staring at Mitch’s arm while rubbing the top of his own thigh. Mitch cocks his head, and Auston tears his gaze away. "Do you—" Auston bites his lip as he searches for the words. Mitch thinks he knows what’s coming. "What’s up with McDavid?"

Or not.

"Uh, nothing?" Mitch laughs, a little awkward. Hashtag, deep talk. "Why?"

"You—don’t you love him?” Auston is confused. "You guys are really close, yeah?"

"Yeah I do, and yeah, he’s one of my best friends..." Mitch isn’t following the plot, and he trails off to give Auston a chance to explain.

Auston just rubs at his thigh again, moving his fingers down to where Mitch knows there’s a hidden name. His eyes follow the movement, and when he looks back up, Auston’s watching him. "He’s lucky," he says softly. Mitch thinks he understands.

He touches the _Connor_ on his wrist all the time, rubs it when he’s thinking of what to say, when he’s nervous, when he’s zoning out or dozing off, when he’s looking at himself in the mirror—

"He’s not mine," Mitch says. "We’re best friends, I told you, but he’s dating someone else, which I also already told you."

"I know, I just thought—" Auston cuts himself off. Mitch won’t take the bait. "I don’t know what I thought." He touches his inner thigh again as Mitch’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

_J: have u jumped yet???_

Mitch takes a deep breath and sends a nervous face back.

"It’s stupid, it’s nothing," Auston is mumbling when Mitch looks up.

Jump, and a net will appear.

"Are we soulmates?" Mitch blurts out. Subtlety? Who’s she?

Auston is immediately defensive, pressing his thighs together as his mouth twists into expressing an emotion between embarrassment and confusion. His words betray nothing, however, which will eternally be frustrating to Mitch. "Don’t think so, no."

"Then who’s here?" Mitch pokes the spot Auston’s been worrying at, and Auston inhales sharply.

"Nobody you know," Auston says quickly. "Doesn’t matter."

"It’s your soulmate, of course it matters."

"Yeah, mine. Not yours." Auston gets up, and that’s that.

 _Jump, and a net will appear._ Mitch’s stomach roils in his chest, and doesn’t know if he’ll ever hit that net.

* * *

"I jumped," Mitch huffs into the phone, trying to hide his sorrow. "And I think I missed the net."

"Wouldn’t be the only time," Jaime teases gently. "How’d you miss this one?"

"He’s just—not it."

"Who is, then?" Jaime challenges. "Who else could it _possibly_ be? How many 'wrong Austin’s' could there be in the world?"

"More than one," Mitch mumbles. Jaime’s has enough.

"You don’t have to be soulmates to make it work—which, by the way, _I_ think you guys are—and there are plenty of people out there who can prove that to you. If you like him and he likes you, then that’s it. You can make it work."

"I just—"

"You like him," she interrupts. "And he probably likes you."

"Probably," Mitch says quietly, a little miserably.

" _Try_ , Mitchy." She pauses, and Mitch tries to steady his shaky breathing so she can’t hear it. "Actually, no. 'Do or do not. There is no try.'"

Mitch grins a little. "Did you just quote Yoda at me?"

"And if I did, Yoda?" He attempts a protest, but she laughs and adds, "It’s your new nickname, Mitchy, no take-backs."

"Ugh."

* * *

Mitch kisses Auston after a good home win, the night Auston deflects the game-winner behind Niemi.

It’s kind of awful.

Not that Auston is a bad kisser—quite the opposite, actually, uses his tongue and everything. He just—doesn’t want Mitch like that. Doesn’t like Mitch that way.

Luckily, they’re on their couch, half-watching Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix, when Auston mentions Connor’s injury, trying to get a reaction out of Mitch. Mitch just stares at him for a long second, and Auston mumbles an apology.

"Why are you sorry?" Mitch asks, setting a hand on Auston’s knee and rubbing it with his thumb. Auston shrugs and stares at it for a while until he shifts. When Mitch finally looks back up, Auston’s meeting his eyes with an intense gaze filled with something he’s never seen before.

 _Jump, and a net will appear._ It’s Mitch’s new motto. He can’t give up now.

He leans in, hand instinctively squeezing tighter, and he can hear Auston’s sharp, quiet inhale before their lips meet. Mitch’s other hand comes up to land on Auston’s chest when Auston doesn’t immediately push him away. It’s the best feeling in the world, and it feels like an entire happy zoo has erupted into life inside Mitch.

Until Auston pulls his head away, that is. He looks slightly frightened and too nervous for Mitch to handle. Auston’s never flustered.

"Marns, can you—" Auston’s hands are carefully not touching Mitch, and he jerks away as that awful, joy-sucking, black-hole feeling replaces the cheerful zoo.

"Sorry, fuck, uh," Mitch says, biting his lip and running a hand through his hair. "Good night." He’s falling face-first onto his bed before Auston can reply.

Which is why Mitch wants to die.

He thinks he hears a knock on the door through the pounding of his heart in his ears, but he ignores it. It’s a hopeful figment of his imagination.

"Marns," Auston calls, muffled. Mitch only squirms and hides his head under his pillow. "Marns, I’m coming in."

Mitch tenses up, but the door’s already swung open as Auston, with his deceptively light steps, makes his way to Mitch’s bed. Mitch feels the bed dip barely inches from his calves, so he shifts them closer to his head while his hands still hold the pillow in place.

"Marns, can you look at me?" Auston asks, setting a hand on Mitch’s bare foot. He shivers violently but otherwise doesn’t answer. "I’m not—I don’t know what you think I am, but it’s probably wrong."

Mitch pulls up the pillow a tiny bit and tilts his head down to eye at Auston through the tiny space. Auston is zoned out staring at Mitch’s bedside table-desk thing, rubbing his thumb over the knob of Mitch’s ankle. It’s weirdly soothing, and the more he does it the less Mitch thinks it’s weird.

"I have yours," Auston admits, after Mitch, through an incredible bout of self-control and mild terror, has managed to say nothing. He’s sure thought about every single way Auston could react and enacted them all out in his head, but he never really acknowledged the encouraging images.

"What?"

"You," Auston says simply. "I’m yours."

Wait. What?

Auston doesn’t wait for Mitch to ask again, instead standing up and—holy shit, this is _Mitch’s bedroom_ , what the fuck—shoving down his sweatpants to reveal the covered name Mitch has been dying to see. Literally dying, in his opinion.

"Here," Auston says, like Mitch is oblivious to the existence of Auston’s legs. Kinda helps that his dick is placed near there, too. Mitch’s head is now fully extracted as he sits up and twists around to see Auston peel off what looks like the fancy long-term breathable covering. He must never risk anyone seeing it—no even himself.

But the mark isn’t even the best part—it’s where it is that’s the real kicker (holy fucking _thighs_ , Mitch is dying of joy). Mitch can imagine pressing his thumb into his own name as he sucks hickeys down Auston’s body, when he discreetly slides his hand onto Auston’s leg during a fancy team dinner, as a distraction while they’re watching tv or playing video games that might usually devolve into something a lot more athletic.

What Mitch is saying is, he loves it.

"Holy fucking shit," he whispers in disbelief, the quietest he’s ever been in his life, as his hands gets halfway to Auston and stops abruptly. Auston’s anxious expression has since been replaced with one of determination, fondness creeping in as Mitch impatiently waits for his permission.

"I can touch?" Mitch finally asks, scooting to the edge of the bed when Auston doesn’t offer. Auston just smiles, cheeks tinting pink.

"Wherever you want," he answers with a smirk. That’s loaded.

Mitch’s legs dangle off the bed as he finally—fucking _finally_ gets to touch the mark he’s been wanting for so long to know about; to see, to feel, to lick, to rub his—

He’s distracted by Auston’s soft murmur from above him, looking up to see his dark hair hanging over his face as he stares down at Mitch with hands twitching at his sides. Even as he askes "What?" his eyes are already back on his name on Auston’s ridiculously muscled inner thigh.

Auston doesn’t repeat himself, and Mitch is forced to look away from the mark as Auston presses him back into the bed and makes the most intense eye contact Mitch’s ever experienced. "Can I kiss you?" He asks, completely serious, but Mitch can’t help but laugh.

"Dude, are you serious?" He grins. "Like, the first day we met, you could’ve asked and I still would’ve said yes."

Auston just leans down, Mitch’s eyes on his admittedly gorgeous lips until they’re too close. Mitch’s world narrows to the smell of Auston’s shampoo, hair brushing Mitch’s own forehead, and the feel of his soft mouth enveloping Mitch in warmth. Mitch could probably kiss him forever.

And then Auston reintroduces his tongue.

Mitch moans shamelessly, hands coming up to hold tight to Auston’s waist as his hips push up to try and get friction. Hell yeah, Mitch is hard from this. Auston responds in kind, grinding down hard, and Mitch has to pull back to breathe.

"Oh—my god," he pants, eyes wide as they roam over every square inch of Auston’s face—slack jaw and all. He did that.

"Fuck yeah," Auston responds, no longer smug as he readjusts his position so he can get his hands under Mitch’s thighs. Mitch obliges and wraps his legs around Auston, both of them groaning at the closeness and much-needed pressure on their (unfortunately, Mitch thinks with the last scraps of his brain that function) clothed dicks. Auston’s body blankets Mitch, his full weight pressing into him making it difficult to breathe for yet another reason.

"Should we like—"

"Fuck me? Yes," Mitch interrupts, trying to get more kisses in, and Auston can’t hold back a choked moan.

"I was gonna say talk," Auston says, looking a little dazed. "Maybe—"

"Later, later, c’mon." Auston doesn’t seem to be one to protest a desperate Mitch, that’s for sure.

"But I bought you something in Ottawa," he tries, weak, but Mitch is already kissing him. The aforementioned gift can wait.

Mitch decides they have too many clothes on the moment Auston dips his head to mouth at Mitch’s exposed neck. "Off, off," he breathes, strained, scrabbling at Auston’s back flexing to keep Mitch steady.

Auston just pushes at the hem of Mitch’s own shirt with one hand, Mitch squeezing his thighs tighter and tilting his head back.

He shudders once his shirt is off, for Auston’s full, intensified attention goes to his name, and he brushes his fingers over it before— _holy fucking arms_ (Mitch is gonna die before this day is over)—he shifts Mitch to the center of the bed, head on the pillow, and easily reaches into Mitch’s shorts to wrap his fingers around Mitch’s aching dick.

They don’t look back from there.

* * *

They fuck with Mitch on his back, Auston perfectly between his legs driving him insane. He has his hand over the _Auston_ on Mitch’s heart the entire time, and it’s the best thing Mitch has ever felt in his life.

Maybe soulmates _are_ worth it, after all.


End file.
